


Secrets, Control

by leonshardt



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, probably non canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: There's no need to pretend they understand each other. But Cypher still tries.
Relationships: Cypher/Omen (VALORANT)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	Secrets, Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is very fast and unedited. Sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> I also wanted to tag this as Established Relationship but I didn't feel that "relationship" adequately described this situation. "Established Extended Harassment", maybe.

“Hold still,” Viper says, as she adjusts the light.

Cypher wasn’t planning on moving. Actually, he hadn’t moved since collapsing on her operating table, but Viper seems keen on issuing commands anyway. She tugs aside his blood-stained jacket to assess the damage. Cypher winces as her gloved hand grazes over broken skin. He can guess how bad it looks.

“Hm. You should have worn armor,” she says. She moves out of his field of view. A clink of tools somewhere to his left. The light hurts his eyes.

“I didn’t have time to prepare. It wasn’t a planned mission.”

“Well then.” Viper reappears holding some kind of nozzle with a wickedly long syringe at the tip. “I hope the reward was worth the excursion.”

The mission was a failure, but he’s not about to tell Viper that. They aren’t exactly friends. She’s not even his first choice as far as underground doctors go, but at least he can trust her not to stab him in the back. Even so, her services won’t be cheap.

God, he misses Morocco. 

The air vibrates as the machines around him hum to life. “I was imagining something more like sutures,” he says, as she lines the syringe up with his shoulder.

“Nanobots are better,” she responds. Then she stabs him.

Cypher stares at the ceiling. His shoulder burns. A thousand nicks and bruises weigh his body down like an anchor. This has to be worth it. He’ll track down where the radianite transport is headed, and take it back. He was unprepared today. It won’t happen again.

Viper works efficiently. In a few minutes, the searing pain in his shoulder dulls to a muted throb. 

“There,” she says, withdrawing. A hiss of air releasing, and the machines wind down. “Give it a few days, and you’ll be good as new.”

Cypher gingerly pushes himself into a sitting position. It still hurts terribly to move. But at least he’ll live.

Viper watches him with her arms crossed. Observing. Expectant.

Cypher sighs. “How much?”

“This one’s free. _If_ you tell me where you’re keeping the radianite.” She says it simply. She’s not bargaining.

He can feel a headache coming on. There’s no way to get around it. “I don’t have it,” he admits. 

Viper raises an eyebrow. “You said you intercepted the transport.”

“I did. The transport was guarded.”

“Obviously.” She turns away, thinking. “It can’t have gone far. With their development schedule, they’ll be wanting to keep it close.”

“I’ll find it again. They can’t hide from me.”

“The man who sees everything,” Viper says, with only a hint of irony. “I already know you’re going to look for it. And when you find it, you’ll give me the location.” 

“And if I want it for myself?” Cypher knows he’s pushing it. But part of him is curious. He wants to know Viper’s stake in this. It’s his job to know things: motivations, weaknesses. And Viper has secrets like anyone else.

“You’ll get your cut,” she says dismissively. “And with that stunt you just pulled, they’ll be upping security. You’ll need more firepower.”

Cypher considers it. “And that firepower is… you?”

Viper smiles. It is not a friendly smile. “Think about it, won’t you?” 

Cypher grunts. He drags himself off the table, wincing, and makes his way to the door. His hat is nowhere to be found. At least the rest of his gear is intact.

“Oh, and Cypher,” Viper says, “Catch.”

He flicks out his good arm and an unlabeled bottle of pills smacks into his palm. It rattles when he shakes it. “What is this? Antibiotics?”

The smirk on her face widens. “Tylenol. I’ll be seeing you.”

The door closes behind him with a click. The streets are relatively quiet at this time of night; under cover of darkness, he slowly makes his way through the alleys back to the safe house. As he walks, he unscrews the lid of the medicine bottle and feels around inside. Ah. A slip of paper, with a number written on it. He stuffs the paper inside his ruined jacket, and drops the bottle into the next dumpster he passes. Just in case.

The safe house is a basement bunker behind a few shoddy restaurants and abandoned construction sites. Little more than a cot, a portable stove, and space to store equipment. He scans himself in, and once inside, slumps in the darkness with his back against the inside of the locked door. His shoulder hurts. Everything hurts. 

He holds his head with his good hand. He thinks he can hear the buzzing of nanobots in his veins. A subtle itching in his wounds. Maybe he’s imagining it. He needs to sleep.

“Did you bring a camera to a gunfight?” A mocking voice. Deep. Familiar.

Cypher looks up sharply. A hooded figure in the gloom, standing by the bed. It only takes him a second to scan the perimeter: no tripwires broken, no cages triggered. No sign of forced entry. His Ghost is still strapped to his hip. It would only take a moment to draw.

“How did you get in.” It’s not a question. They both know that despite Cypher’s best tricks and gadgets, he can’t keep Omen out. Not for long. 

Omens prowls closer. Closer, until he’s crowding Cypher against the wall. Until all Cypher can see is the three glowing scars beneath his hood. He leans forward as Cypher turns his head away.

“I can smell her on you,” he hisses. “ _Sabine._ ” The name is spoken like a vile thing. 

“I told you to stop following me.” Cypher keeps his voice light. Evens out his breathing.

“And I told you to stop watching me,” Omen says. He takes something out, and Cypher’s gaze flicks down to look at it—one of his cameras—as he unceremoniously drops it on the ground and crushes it under one boot. He kicks it aside, a sad tangle of crushed wires and pieces. “What did she want?” he snarls.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Why should I?”

Omen seems to… flicker. The space he occupies darkens, shifts, like a shadow. Cypher tries to shove him away—to get away—but he’s still as solid like a concrete wall. Solid like a real person. “This isn’t one of your _games_ ,” Omen growls. One of his gauntlets wraps around Cypher’s throat, pushing him back. Not crushing him, just enough pressure to make it a little harder to breathe.

Beneath his mask, Cypher allows himself a small smile. The wraith is tough to crack, but he can still make him angry. Good. “She wanted the location of some radianite. That’s all.”

“ _Radianite_ ,” Omen says slowly. “She will twist the natural balance. Destroy it. Just like she destroyed everything else.”

Omen’s history with Viper is another mystery to unravel. The threads woven tightly into Omen’s own existence. Cypher can hack machines and manipulate people, but he can’t get a read on the wraith. But maybe someday he will. After all, secrets are his specialty. 

“I saw her for a favor, nothing more. Anything beyond that is none of my concern.” Cypher feels the grip around his neck loosen. The sharp tips of Omen’s fingers run down the side of his faceplate. 

“You won’t need favors from her much longer.” Omen pulls back, just a few inches. His gaze lingers over Cypher’s ruined jacket, the blood splatters. He pauses over Cypher’s shoulder, examining the deepest part of his wound. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

The claws are still sliding over his face. Caressing. “You know nothing of pain. I can feel your heartbeat. Are you afraid?” Omen asks. Mocking. He laughs, a dark sound. “I know it’s not fear you feel.”

Cypher feels his fingertips dig under his chin. “If you were going to kill me, you wouldn’t be wasting my time right now.” His Ghost is still in its holster. He won’t be needing it tonight.

The jagged slits on Omen’s face flare. “You think you’re in control. You think you can see everything. You know _nothing_.” He raises his hand, a dark swirl of energy following the movement. He holds it in the air for a moment, wisps of inky blackness flaking away in pieces. Then he slams his claws against Cypher’s face. 

Cypher’s mind tears in half. That’s what it feels like. He thinks he gasps, but he can’t hear his own voice. The blackness seeps into his eyes, into his brain. His vision fades to darkness until all he can see is a few inches in front of him. All he can see is Omen. 

The sound of a tripwire snapping, sharp as lightning. A woman screaming, miles away. And his shoulder. It burns. A buzzing fills his ears. It’s coming from within him. His wound feels like a thousand bees swarming to get out. Vibrating, crawling out of his skin. The nanobots are inside him. They’re in his blood. 

They’re going to kill him. She meant to kill him all along. He’s going to die. He claws at his shoulder. 

He’s going to die.

All he can see is Omen.

“Enough,” Omen says, and the darkness dissipates. Just like that, Cypher’s senses are back. The disorientation throws him off balance. He almost collapses onto the floor, legs trembling, but Omen drags him back up to eye level. Keeps him there.

“You can make me paranoid, but you can’t make me fear you,” Cypher says quietly. He hates how unsteady his voice is. At least his blood is silent now. Everything is silent.

Omen is so close. He slides his knee between Cypher’s legs. He’s hard. The shame pools in his stomach. He wants—God—he doesn’t know what he wants. He wishes he were alone. He wishes he were somewhere else. 

“Take off your mask,” Omen says lowly.

“No.”

“I already know your face.”

“I don’t care.”

Omen tilts his head. He grinds his knee up, and Cypher makes a soft sound. He can imagine the grimace on the other man’s face. It didn’t have to end up like this. But it always does. 

“Then say you want this,” Omen says. “Say it.”

“Yes,” Cypher croaks. “Yes.”

They make it to the bed. It barely fits them both. Omen never lets Cypher touch him, but Cypher can still feel his coldness. Emptiness where a living man once was. Cypher doesn’t understand. Too many secrets fill the void between them. He is glad Omen can’t see his face when he comes. 

Afterwards, he closes his eyes and imagines a different world. One without First Light. A world where he is still in control. When he opens his eyes, Omen is gone. Only a faint miasma lingers in the room. He sighs and checks his pockets. The slip of paper is gone. Predictable. He lets his eyes drift closed again. 

Until next time. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter here https://twitter.com/frenzycrutch


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